


Seeing Red

by Kittenmaya



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Canon Typical Violence, M/M, major character deaths
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-22
Updated: 2015-12-22
Packaged: 2018-05-08 07:27:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,164
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5488748
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kittenmaya/pseuds/Kittenmaya
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What if Will doesn't get his resolution? What if Hannibal is just dead and Will is just alone and that’s it? What is Dolarhyde is smart enough to go straight for the kill?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Seeing Red

**Author's Note:**

> Just a one shot my arse of a mind decided to present me with while I was listening to music. Sorry.

Will Graham is holding the glass of wine Hannibal has poured him, the heady scent of the rich drink has just settled in the back of his throat. Hannibal is smiling at him, a warm genuine smile that Will thinks he might never have seen on the older man’s face before. Will is just lifting his glass for Hannibal to toast this, them, whatever, when a hot, familiar spray splashes across his face. For a long moment he is sure he must have sunk into one of his memories – there’s no immediate explanation otherwise. Then the simultaneous shatter of the wine bottle of the floor and the window behind Hannibal exploding hits and Hannibal crumples to his knees, face and body slack. Will has, at some point, let go of his wine glass and that shatters by his feet. A shard sinks into his knee as he drops to catch Hannibal. The combination of Hannibal’s weight and the complete lack of muscle control drives Will back across the wooden floor, allowing the body to slide into his lap. Will’s mind provides him with the most unhelpful thing it can right now, a joke: “What’s the definition of trust? Two cannibals giving each other a blow job.” Hysterical laughter bubbles out of his mouth before he can react to anything else. 

Things are still at half speed and as Will frantically turns the body over he is still expecting Hannibal to start laughing, coughing, anything at Will’s desperate response to his collapse. The body is resistant to his efforts to move it so he takes a moment to calm himself before heaving hard. As it turns the force of Will’s effort throws an arm out towards his face and Will jerks back, sure for one short moment that Hannibal has decided to kill him after all. The arm slaps the floor, hand landing palm up and open, an offering. Will find himself fixated on this, eyes reluctant to look at the face which has become so central to his mind’s obsession. He hears his own hysterics echo back at him and tries to get it too stop, breathing deeply, in through the nose and out through the mouth just like Hannib- He stops himself there, another bubble of laughter trying to escape. 

Will finally forces himself to look at the face. Hannibal’s face. The blank face, blank eyes and slack mouth, single, elegant curl of blood at the edge of his lips. Will’s first thought is that he’s never seen Hannibal so relaxed. Then logic helpfully chips in that he never will again and those sobbing screeches are clawing out of his mouth again. He takes in the rest of the body and the ever present investigator within him points out that the single bullet wound to the heart would have killed Hannibal instantly, no pain or fuss. Hannibal would hate it – would have hated it. Will might not be100% sure on every little thing about the man before him but he knows that Dr Hannibal Lecter would be horrified at going out in such a mundane and simple fashion. The good doctor would have wanted blood baths and violence to mark his last moments, not a half offered toast and an unseen assailant. 

The assailant. Will feels his own vulnerability and exposure, the window that clearly offered so little protection anyway is gone and he is under full lighting. He waits for long moments, expecting a second bullet to slump him over the body: a more fitting tableau for their lives. Nothing. His eyes scan what he can see of the tree line, hunting for Dolarhyde’s pale face in amongst the branches. He knows he should get up, should move to cover or step out into the fight proper. He can’t bring himself to let go of the body, still warm and still smelling like the echo of Hannibal that his mind has never quite let go of. He wonders if his mind will ever let go of that echo or if he will, in 20 years’ time, still push doors open in his memory palace and expect to see Hannibal there, smiling that smile he has seen only once and finishing the toast with eloquent words that would undoubtedly leave Will blushing and uncomfortable but undeniably happy. He thinks it is likely he would lose his sanity searching every room of that stupid palace over and over before accepting that the echo has stopped.

It is this that finally pushes Will to his feet, allowing Hannibal to slide softly to the floor. He is about to stride out to face The Dragon when something stops him, tugs him back around to face the body. The eyes – Hannibal’s deep, maroon eyes – are still gazing blankly at the celling. Will crouches, noticing the glass in his knee for the first time. His hands hover for a moment before gently pushing eyelids down over eyes that he knows will wake him from the deepest of sleeps. There are words lodged in his throat, a thousand thoughts spinning through his mind, but he stays silent. Hannibal knew all there was to say, knew it when Will got into the car without comment and with complete trust.

This time Will doesn’t hesitate in striding out into the open, hands bare and unarmed but ready to rip flesh from bone.

“Dolarhyde!” Nothing beside the rush of sea hundreds of feet below him. “Dolarhyde!” He turns slowly, checking the area carefully, wiping at a splatter of blood on his glasses. Hannibal’s blood. “Dolarhyde, you bastard. Showing your face.” Still nothing. Will takes half a step towards the woods and decides against it, he would be going into the dark, unknowing and unseeing. It strikes him that this is exactly how he was walking into Hannibal’s waiting arms but it wasn’t fear that had enraptured him then. Far from it.

A whistle of air and Will’s arm shudders backwards in blinding pain. He staggers back, turning towards the house from which a figure surges towards him. The lights from the house are bright enough, Dolarhyde tall enough, and Will’s mind desperate enough that he half sees Hannibal coming at him. His good arm falls open, welcoming the dead man into his embrace. It’s too late for him to move when his eyes and his brain finally line up and it is Francis Dolarhyde’s hulking form barrelling into him, pushing him backwards with force and out – out into open air.

 

Will smiles. A place is laid for him at a beautiful table. The smell of the food is so good his mouth waters. The candles are lit and he recognises The Goldberg Variation drifting from somewhere. The doors at the far end open and the chef is bringing in the food, back towards Will as he carries a laden tray. Hannibal turns, his eyes soften and Will sees that smile for the second time in his life.

“Ah, William, right on time.”

**Author's Note:**

> Yes, Seeing Red is a reference to the Buffy episode.


End file.
